


Delirium

by carefree_criminal



Series: Just Out of Reach [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, M/M, Porn With Plot, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 02:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30115557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefree_criminal/pseuds/carefree_criminal
Summary: With Jim Moriarty apparently dead, the female protagonist is forced to reconcile the thoughts and feelings she has been forcing down for too long. Sebastian Moran is able to provide some support, but he's also preoccupied with work to keep Moriarty's web intact, while simultaneously keeping the protagonist from finding out too much. But there is only so much he can keep from her before she senses something is off. Tensions rise between them, and the situation becomes increasingly complex and dangerous for them both.
Relationships: Jim Moriarty/Original Female Character(s), Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty/Original Female Character, Sebastian Moran/Original Female Character
Series: Just Out of Reach [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216067
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Delirium

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand we’re back! This is a direct continuation of the previous fic (Just Out of Reach), so if you haven’t checked that one out first, you might feel a bit lost! Also, I’m shifting the story from 2nd person POV (self-insert) to 3rd person, to allow for some more flexibility with fleshing out the different characters and their backgrounds. As always, hope you enjoy :)

_Where we left off..._

By the time she’s sobered up the next day, though she’s still badly hungover, she’s made a decision. She can’t stay here. Not after everything that’s happened, and now, with Jim dead - she just can’t. So over the next few days, she slowly starts gathering things together - she goes out and buys a backpack and a cheap new phone, telling Seb that she’s just going out for a walk and getting some fresh air. She had some cash saved up, what was left of what she was given when she was initially granted more freedom around the flat. It’s not much, but it’s enough to cover the backpack and the phone.

…

Once she’s sure Seb is asleep, she quietly packs her things - putting some clothes and toiletries in the backpack, along with the money she gathered, and a few other items. At 2 in the morning, she bundles up to face the cold mid-December chill, and she slips through the front door, new phone in her pocket, phone provided by Jim in her hand. She removes the battery and tosses it in the trash. She drops the now-lifeless phone on the ground and smashes it with her foot, before picking it up and throwing it out, as well. Now liberated from any possibility of being tracked, she hops on the first night bus she sees.

As much as she wants to put it all behind her, as much as she longs to let go and move on, there’s a part of herself that wants otherwise. There’s a hunger, a pressing need running through her veins. She needs a thrill of sorts. An outlet for all this adrenaline.

She reaches into the backpack on her lap, letting her fingers settle loosely around the handle of a blade - one of her favorites from when she’d been training with Seb; he let her keep it. Rather than a typical steel blade, this one is carved from obsidian, with a handle wrapped in dark leather. Feeling it in her grip now gives her a sense of comfort, of security.

For the time being, this’ll do. It’ll curb her thirst for a quiet kind of violence, and satisfy that warped, sinister part of her inner self that was unleashed during her captivity. A part of her that, surprisingly, she has no interest in suppressing. If she’s learned anything these past several months, it’s that leading a simple, monotonous life will get her nowhere except to a place of permanent misery and dissatisfaction, until she eventually fades into obscurity, forgotten by the rest of the world.

She is no longer willing to settle for normalcy. So, with her hand on her blade and her eyes on the city passing by, she makes a promise to herself. No matter what difficulties she encounters in the future, she will not let the ordinary or the mundane beat her down. She will not submit to the people who know nothing of true intellect, of the same kind of brilliance she first discovered in the man whose legacy she is now escaping.

This is about finding herself, not hiding in his shadow. Not anymore. Because for once, she has control over her life, and there are endless possibilities within her reach.

\---

Sebastian Moran wakes up early the next morning, shortly before dawn. At once, he feels something is off. It takes mere minutes for him to establish that Talia is not in the flat. He immediately tries calling her, but the number goes straight to voicemail. Cursing, he tries again, with the same result.

Now beginning to panic, he quickly dials another number, and holds the phone to his ear, listening to it ring briefly, before someone picks up.

“This had better be important,” the person snarls, “because I really shouldn’t be on the phone right now.”

“She's gone.”

Silence. Then, “ _What?_ ” The voice is quiet but cold, dripping with venom.

“Talia. I woke up this morning and she was gone. No note, no anything. I tried calling her, it went straight to voicemail. It looks like she took some clothes, some cash, toiletries... She's gone.”

A sigh on the other end. “Well that won't do... Track her down. Find her, and bring her back. If anyone else has gotten their hands on her in the meantime, kill them.”

“Will do.”

“And Moran?”

“Boss?”

“Make sure she doesn't find out about me. She can't know, not yet.”

“Alright, Boss.”

“Thank you, Tiger.”

“Of course. Oh, and Jim?”

Another sigh, though this one is gentler. “Yes, Sebastian?”

“Don't get yourself killed, alright?”

There's a dry chuckle on the other end of the line. “Same goes for you. Keep me posted - but keep communication to a minimum.”

“Of course.”

“Ciao, Sebastian.”

The line goes dead.

_____________________

PART II: DELIRIUM

Things go smoothly for the first couple of weeks. She’s actually surprised that she doesn’t get caught - by the police or by Sebastian. The second day she’s gone, she shaves her head, leaving less than a half-inch of her light brown locks. The way the cool, mid-December air brushes past the now exposed skin of her neck and scalp is freeing, in a way. Not to mention how nice it is to not have the wind blowing her hair in her face all the time.

She finds a hostel in central London to stay in for cheap, and spends the days wandering through London, trying to plan out her next move. She figures it might be good to start looking for a job, so she can support herself, once the money she brought with her runs out

The first kill is… unexpected, to say the least. Equipped with nothing but a knife, she’d been walking through London on her fourth night since leaving, planning to just go to a pub, maybe pick up some random bloke for the night. And things seemed to have been going in that direction. Seated at a pub, she was making small talk with a rather handsome man, perhaps a year or two her junior. She wanted him… but in a strangely detached sort of way. Sure, she wouldn’t mind a good fuck to take her mind off of _other_ recent events. But she felt something else tugging at her gut, a different kind of urge, one that brought her back to that abandoned building with Sebastian weeks before.

Things escalate, they’re both tipsy, and exit the bar together, and he kisses her. She kisses him back. She pulls him into the alley behind the bar, then slams him against the wall, kissing him again, grinding against him and pinning his wrists to the wall. He chuckles against her lips. “Bit rough, are we? I like it.”

His compliance to being roughed around by her makes things significantly easier. She pulls her lips away from his with a mischievous smirk, and he grins right back. His smile vanishes quickly when she pulls out her knife and plunges it up and into his ribcage, luckily going right into the heart. His face falls from surprise to something resembling betrayal. As though asking, _What the fuck was that for?_ It only lasts a split second before he goes limp, and she pulls out her knife and lets him slide down to the ground.

Did he deserve it? Of course not. Does she care? _Of course not_. In fact, she’s still grinning. Though she stops as she looks around warily, and, wiping the blood from her knife onto the dead man’s shirt, she sheathes it and briskly gets away from the scene. Once she turns a corner, she starts jogging lightly, putting some distance between herself and her little project. Luckily, she’s wearing dark clothes, so any blood that may have gotten on them doesn’t show to the occasional passerby.

Her own blood is thrumming through her veins with a new energy, and _God,_ she feels high. But also, sated, in a way. She’s satisfied for the night, and takes a taxi back to the hostel.

This marks only the first of a string of murders, not all of them originating as sexual encounters. She’s limited with how creative she can get with just a knife, and being outside where there’s a potential of getting caught. But that’s part of the thrill, she supposes.

As the days progress, she starts to feel more drained, as though the reality of what happened before is finally catching up to her. She starts getting reckless. Messier. Three and a half weeks in, she’s just killed someone; it’s just past 9 PM on a Saturday night, so the streets are nowhere near deserted. She’s got adrenaline running through her veins, but not because of elation. It’s panic, a frantic need to get away, and a stark lack of the satisfaction she felt after her first few kills. And this time, she thinks she’s being followed.

She finds herself weaving through alleys, until she’s not sure exactly where she is. She has her back pressed against a wall, and she’s panting. She peeks around a corner to see if whoever she’s sensed is still on her trail. But there’s no one.

Before she has the chance to avert her gaze again, however, a pair of hands grab her shoulders roughly and pull her away from the corner then slam her front against the wall. She hits the side of her head and swears. _Fuck_. She’s been caught. But she can still get away, if she can just get to her knife - 

As she’s reaching for it, the person behind her grabs her wrist and pulls her arm painfully back, as their other arm presses against her neck, keeping her head against the wall.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’ve been doing?”

She suddenly stops struggling against the person.

“Seb?”

He pulls her away from the wall and spins her around so her back is pressed against it instead. He grips her shoulders tightly, and in the darkness she can barely see his face but she can _feel_ him seething.

“Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?” he hisses.

She stutters out a few fragmented syllables in an attempt to put together a coherent response, but fails, still too shocked at the sudden unexpected turn of events.

“I’ll admit, your first few kills were discreet. The Yard hit a dead end. But the more recent ones? Christ, you’re lucky I found you before you got picked off by some fucking rookie pig,” he scoffs before turning and dragging her behind him as he walks quickly between buildings, eventually bringing her to a dark car, shoving her into the backseat as the distant sound of police sirens begins to echo through the streets.

He quickly goes around to the driver’s seat, bringing the car to life and turning back to look at her. “Try to leave the car and I’ll let the cops get you.”

She gives a single nod, eyes wide, still trying to put everything together. Her thoughts are scattered. She startles when she catches a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Her face is streaked with someone else’s blood, and her eyes look crazed, hair a mess. God, if the police had seen her, she’d be in deep shit.

But then there’s Seb. He’s fuming silently, glaring at the road ahead as he barely keeps under the speed limit. Had he been tracking her this whole time? Was he letting her run around on her own this whole time, or was this just the first chance he’d been able to track her down?

Best not to ask while he’s still like this. Maybe once he’s had a chance to cool down. So instead, she just leans back against the seat, hugging her legs to her chest, and rests her eyes. God, she’s tired. She hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in over a week. Too many nightmares about… well, that was just it - her dreams were vague, unclear, but left her waking up in a sweat, overcome with intense trepidation. But she could never remember the details of what she dreamt about. She imagined it likely had something to do with her growing fear of getting caught. But at the same time, she knows there’s something more to them. Because she also wakes with the same panic and subsequent ache that she experienced when she first learned what had happened to Jim.

A hand on her shoulder shakes her from her thoughts. She startles.

“Relax, it’s me,” Seb says, then nods towards the window. “We’re here. C’mon.”

They are, indeed, back at the flat. She warily steps out of the car, and a moment later Seb is at her side, escorting her to the front door, like she’s a prisoner all over again. But she doesn’t have the energy to try to get away, or the wherewithal to hide from the cops, for that matter.

Once they’re both inside, Seb shuts the door behind her and locks it with a key, so she can’t leave. Not that she would, not now.

“You hungry? I can cook up some food if you want,” he offers.

Somehow she can’t find it in herself to form words, so he glances back at her for a reply. She just nods slowly. His brow furrows with mild concern, but he doesn’t mention it. “How about you go clean yourself up a bit, I’ll let you know when the food’s ready.”

She nods again in thanks, and drifts upstairs to the bathroom. She does her best to avoid looking in the mirror, but she inevitably catches a brief glimpse - now seeing a more complete image of herself than she could see in the rearview mirror of the car.

To say she’s a mess is an understatement. She quickly shuts her eyes and turns away, unable to bear her own reflection. She carefully strips from her clothes and turns on the shower, keeping the water cold as she steps in. It only takes a few minutes for her to wash off the blood, and the overall sensation of grime that’s been plaguing her for days.

It’s not until she turns off the water and pulls open the shower curtain that she realizes she never grabbed a towel or a clean set of clothes. And somehow, that stops her in her tracks. She just stands in place, staring down at the heap of bloodied clothes on the floor. She’s not sure how long she stays like that, but eventually she hears Seb knocking on the door. It doesn’t register immediately, but even once it does, she doesn’t respond. She didn’t lock the door, so after knocking a few more times, Seb opens the door.

“Talia, I swear if you tried to kill yourself or something, I - shit, sorry,” he apologizes once he sees her just standing in the shower, naked. He looks away. “Food’s done, whenever you’re ready.” He’s about to close the door again when she finally manages to find some words.

“Can you - I uh… need a towel,” she mumbles, hugging her arms to herself.

“Oh, yeah sure.” He leaves, then returns a few moments later with a towel and hands it to her, looking away until she’s wrapped it around herself.

“Are my clothes still here?” she asks quietly, avoiding eye contact.

Seb lets out a laugh at that, which helps break a bit of the tension in the air. “Of course, you’ve only been gone a few weeks, it’s not like I purged your shit from the flat.”

She attempts a weak smile. Seb can tell she’s clearly struggling with the whole human interaction thing, so he gives her some space. “I’ll keep your food warm until you’re ready.”

She thanks him softly and he gives a little salute and heads back downstairs. Gathering the dirty clothes from the floor, she hesitantly makes her way to her room, opening the door to find things relatively undisturbed from when she left. She suspects Seb did a bit of searching for any sign of where she might’ve gone, which is understandable. She pulls on a sweater and some jeans before heading downstairs, drawn to the smell of a good meal.

Seb’s prepared a nice hearty stew, and Talia does her best not to just inhale it all. Seb chuckles as he watches her from across the table, his own bites unrushed. “Haven’t been eating well?”

She shrugs, chewing and setting down her fork to take a drink of water. “It’s been too risky, I haven’t really had the chance to sit down for a proper meal in a week. Or get a good night’s rest, for that matter. Always felt like I was being watched.”

He gives a solemn nod. Noticing that she’s clearly drained, and likely not in the mood to talk much before she gets some sleep, he refrains from asking any more questions. She’ll talk to him in time - no point in forcing answers out of her. He just hopes that in the meantime, she won’t try to run away again, though based on her haggard appearance, he doubts she would make an attempt any time soon. Probably better to just keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t harm herself in any way.

Also, now that she’s back, he’ll have to be careful about keeping parts of his work hidden, making sure she doesn’t find out more than she should. Jim made it clear that he doesn’t want her finding out he’s still alive. So until she can know, Seb will have to stick with the cover story - Jim is dead, and he’s taking the reins of the criminal empire. The rest of the criminal world is already learning of his death, and it won’t be long before they really start cracking down on trying to dismantle the web. And Seb knows that soon enough, he’ll be in the crosshairs.


End file.
